Dragonet
by ShadowBright1998
Summary: Originally written by StorybookDreamer15, now in the slightly capable hands of me, Shadow! Forced to leave her home at age six, Maggie moves to Corus where her life is again changed. And when a riot breaks out in the Lower City, the girl risks it all to help her country. Will she find the answer to her paternity, or be sucked into a whirlwind? Rated safely. On hiatus.
1. Riot

**Good Evening/Afternoon/Morning to you all!**

**Sorry, this A/N will be rather long; I have a few things to say.**

**1. I am branching out from my usual Harry Potter fandom, just to continue with this lovely my AH-mazing friend wrote. By continue, I mean fix up, add on, and completely stick to the story line.**

**2. StorybookDreamer15 owns all rights to the plot, and Madam Pierce owns the rest.**

**3. Flames and comments are completely welcome. I have plenty to improve upon, especially due to my lack of... proper experience... within this genre.**

**On with the show!**

* * *

**_The arrow was set, aimed directly at heavily lavished clothing. Deep breath, in, out, and as you focus..._**

**_Release. _**

Her day had started like any other, with the languid awakening within her rough pallet. The laziness of morning clung to the young girl's eyes, tugged upon her rumpled bedspread, and heaved heavy breaths past chapped lips. And, slowly, the small room embraced within the Dancing Dove allowed itself to be focused upon, each individual crack sweeping towards eyes of blue-green. Just like every other day. It did not even usher a degree of shock as small footsteps danced towards the kitchen, new clothing merely tugged over her skin-tone shift.

Honestly, one couldn't blame her. Every morning was akin to the next, and rarely did it change. Even her excited pounce from the second-to-bottom stone step was weighted with the thoughts of boredom. She couldn't even be bothered to sneak another pastry from beneath the nose of the resident cook, Pansy, instead shoveling the fried eggs received within the bowels of her mouth. Chatter wasn't even heard, only the smacking of lips and swallows of a good meal. But no mind was payed towards that. They could all understand. Though none were to admit it, the folk of the Lower City were bored. The fact was probably why the girl was so shocked by the filled streets, so much that she ceased the beginning motion of tying up her crimson locks. Her quiet steps suddenly hurried, and soon after, the twisting body plunged into the crowd, burying herself within the bodies.

_Easy day for pick pocketing, _was her bittersweet thought, accompanied by the stretched fingers slipping towards a copper-filled pouch. It was then that the reason for the whole city gathering in the streets became clear.

"Make way for King Jonathon IV and Thayet, his queen," could be heard throughout the city, each person making it their duty to echo the thought to arched brows and confused faces. As their majesties began to pass, each being bowed their head in respect, though only a slight few felt some sort of attachment to the royals. They simply couldn't relate, anyhow. There was no reason to feel more than respect.

As they passed, however, the small child lifted her head, a glint off a roof catching her bright orbs. An archer... An archer! Surprise swept through her bones, and as she studied where the item was aimed, an utterly idiotic plan was formulated.

Without a second thought, she climbed the stone wall resting a mere stretch behind the crowd, and jumped recklessly over the surrounding bodies, slamming straight into the target. The King. A great deal of protest was about to be voiced, but The Queen, luckily seeing the jump and where the child was looking, noticed the archer and slid off her horse in a quick and fluid motion. If there was more time, the child could have admired the appearance of Her Majesty's movements, but there was none.

The arrow was fired. Just as the propelled savior landed long ways across the male's horse, Darkness, holding tightly to his Majesty's hands, the arrow aimed for the King's heart landed firmly into the side of her left calf. Biting her lip to hold back a wail of pain, she subtly removed the arrow and wrapped the falling head scarf around the wound, allowing fiery red hair to drape to shaking shoulders in waving curls.

And, as lithe as the Queen herself, the girl jumped from the horse and into the beginning fight, releasing wrist knives in the same movement. Quite a lovely killing machine, though they were only used for defense. Defense and this. All around her, chaos ensued, the men of the King's Own and the Champion herself starting to fight off the oncoming cloaked figures. The King and Queen even brandished weapons against some foes. And, through it all, the citizens scrambled away, scrambling to their respective hovels.

The battle was short lived. Most only sported bruises and scrapes, as did the girl, other than the initial arrow wound. Safe. Or as safe as it could be, after realizing that they were truly not living in a peaceful world. Someone was out there, trying to assassinate their leader, her leader. And the thought continued to plague her mind as a strong voice shouted, "Let's get this muck off the street and patch ourselves up."

Soon after the clean up began, however, the child stumbled over to the nearby fountain, one already soaked to the brim with crimson liquid. Disgusting, horrid thoughts came to her mind, the possibilities of whose blood becoming endless. And, with the fountain merely two feet away, her leg gave out to cause a tumble towards the uneven flagstones below. Before her face hit the muck covered street, strong arms snaked tightly around the thin waist, tugging her upon a lovely horse. It could have been romantic, save for the fact that the _savior's _savior was ages above her own meager years, and quite infatuated with a certain woman.

"Hold on there, little missy." The captor's voice was calm and husky. It was a sweet kind of music, one full of the heavy beat of drums. It ushered sleep forth, and within moments, she drifted out of consciousness, staring blankly into coal black eyes topped by short dark hair. Lord Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Malories Peak gently lifted the poor girl into his arms and began the walk up to the palace, kicking his horse into a slow, solemn trot.

_********__I am stuck. Parentless. Sightless. With only two wrist knives and a boot knife for protection. Just an average Lower City gixie in an above average situation. What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

**Well, this seems very short, but I can hopefully promise the next couple shall get longer. Updates are NOT based off reviews, just letting everyone know. I simply put up the new chapter at my own leisure.**

**_Skipping through the dust with Pounce,_  
**

**Shadow**


	2. Watching and Wandering

**Author's Note- StorybookDreamer: **Also, Jon and Thayet have a son before Roald, but why Roald is Crown Prince comes up later in the story.**  
**

**Author's Note- Shadow: **Good 'morrow! I would like to thank Miss Dawnfire321 for offering her sage advice, as well as being my first reviewer, and express my humble gratitude towards those who read the first chapter.**  
**

* * *

**_Why is consciousness such a hard state to hold onto? You simply waft in, sweep out. I cannot stay any longer than a moment, and even then, it hurts. _**

* * *

Three days later, in the palace infirmary, Raoul sat beside the girl's bed, his hands slowly falling upon the rough spread. He had been there the whole time, only leaving her side when Buri came with his lunch, as the lovely Kim'ri did daily. Only then did he cease his contemplating, if for a moment, just to stare at her. Mithros, she was lovely. It nearly clouded his mind, at least until the girl stirred lightly, reminding the hardened man why he was there.

"I don't even know her name," he commented dryly as he turned towards the beef stew and near-stale bread Buri had brought. Hands never moved to grab it, however. They remained clutched at the bed-sheets, knuckles white with the energy of holding emotion. She couldn't know. Not anything. Not about his lack of sleep, nor about the times talking to the child about the one woman he loved.

"Don't worry yourself," she began, and her voice was honey, sweet and simple. "Duke Baird said she would awaken soon. There's nothing you can do until that happens. Besides, Jon needs you at top health, so eat up this stew before I beat you to it."

"Yes, of course, mother hen," was the chortled reply. At that, Raoul grabbed his food hungrily and swallowed it in two bites, attempting to keep from turning into a block of wood. He was stronger than that, wasn't he?

Buri grinned lightly, her lips tugging into the soft smile that tugged upon the male's heart, at least until he convinced himself that it was nothing. She did not feel the same, which was only to cause a horrid situation if he said something about the 'feelings'. "I guess that settles it, then."

A small moan broke their moods as their heads snapped back to the fragile red head struggling to open her eyes. Raoul rushed to her bedside immediately, pounding in excitement from the wooden chair to her side. And, to both of the awake being's distress, she drifted back into unconsciousness almost immediately. Buri, however, was able to restrain her gasps, while the other found himself clunking angrily into the chair, frustrated. He himself could not place the emotion, and it was up to the female to drag him out of it, easily noticing the sudden attachment to the child.

In her opinion, it was wonderful that the he was connecting himself to the younger child. He certainly needed a... child's touch, so to say. The poor fellow was becoming too serious, and once she woke up, Buri was certain that the girl would light up the spark. The fire-tinted hair spoke it all.

"Come, my lord sir," she commanded elegantly, quietly. "She'll be fine."

Buri placed her hands compassionately on his shoulders, and after a moment, exclaimed, "Horse lords, Raoul! You smell. Into the bath with you, lad," and neatly led him away, casting a calm glance towards the girl. She should be fine, later that day. And then both would be better off.

* * *

By the fourth bell of the afternoon that day, the girl awoke with a slight moan. She ached, and the nightmare stayed within her mind, adding more to the slight pain. Sadly, the actual reality of the horrible thoughts were not easily placed. They couldn't be recalled, yet continued to make their angry mark. So, shivering, she attempted to place her thumb upon the topic, and found herself absentmindedly rubbing a scar, one from long ago.

Duke Baird, the chief healer, was there a few moments afterwords, a bowl of steaming broth within his hand. The lovely scent danced pleasantly towards her nose, and the child began to fidget slightly, just as he set it down by her side.

"If you can keep this down," he stated, "you can leave. Understand?"

She slowly nodded her head in acknowledgement, and the man moved to walk away, just as her soft voice tainted the air.

"Wha's the day?" the child asked quietly, and soon after, the duke left, as if afraid to tell her. But he did return, and with a calm sigh, sat down in the chair. She did not wish to know, truly, but it _was _rather important to her work.

He parted his lips in a calm motion, and clasped the worn hands together. "You have been unconscious for a few days," he admitted, and with the child's glare, he simply raised three fingers, directly before walking off. He certainly would not wish to be the target of her temper, which the man had assumed all children possessed. "I expect you to finish that."

She tipped the bowl towards her lips, allowing the steamy liquid to moisten the cracks, nourishment sliding past her aching throat. It certainly was soothing, though the girl doubted the actual healing properties, yet she she finished the thick broth, and fell quickly into another bout of nightmares.

* * *

Frightened voices tainted her ears, and swung through her mind. Shouts, pleas. And none from those she already had been acquainted with. The girl shivered, and stretched out a palm, but her dream-world was plunged into darkness, and light vanished. Absently, she wondered what was going on, but at once, she remembered. Her nightmares. And to accompany the memory, a strange feeling of anguish attached to her soul. Death. Someone was dead, someone she loved. Tears touched at her cheek, and the dream-child lifted a hand to feel the substance, but it was gone. The cold, damp dark swallowed her up once more, and she was rolling upon the sea, waters of depression licking at her heels.

* * *

As the eighth bell of the evening rang out, the nightmares ended, and the patient awoke with a start. All was still and dark in the infirmary, for once, so when the last of the echoes of the bell finally died, it was no surprise that one more bed was empty, as the girl now stood by the door. With the skills that come from years of practice, she wound her scarf around her head, hiding her flaming locks and pressed a hand upon the old door.

_Got places t'go, people t'see, _she murmured to herself, internally of course, and tiptoed lightly around the halls, lost within moments.

"Could you point me in the direction of the rooms of House Olua? I bear a message," she asked of another girl, a few moments later, when her path connected with another's. With directions given and thanks expressed a mere moment later, she continued in the direction stated, thankfully.

She met no passerby the rest of her way and finally came upon the rooms of House Olua, both irate at the time taken, and excited to finally deliver a long-held message. With her left hand gripping the hilt of her wrist knife for caution, she rapped three times on the door with her right. An older woman opened the door, her gray-streaked hair tied in a delicate knot. A noblewoman, seemingly.

With the least bit of Lower City cant she could manage, the red head asked, "May I speak to the Lord of the house? I bear a message."

And yet, in the child's mind, it still sounded common. Hopefully it did not effect the woman's ideals of her. Apparently it did not, because her kind response came a moment later, sweet news towards the girl's ears.

"Please dear, come in. I'm Lady Eleni. Myles is my husband. Who, may I ask is the message from?"

She grinned lightly, and stated quickly, "Maggie, miss. Just Maggie." Off Lady Eleni went into the deeper portions of the rooms. In a moment, she was back with a short, portly man following close behind.

"You must be Maggie," the man began. "I'm Sir Myles of Olua. What is this message you bring?"

"Milord, if we could speak somewhere a little more private," Maggie suggested politely, not suspicious, but still guarded against those around her. She did not know them, anyhow.

"Of course, follow me."

They stepped into a small office down the hall and Lady Eleni closed the door behind them. It was a small space, though comfortable, and as the child dropped quickly into a chair, she immediately sent her Gift into all corners of the room, blocking out sound.

_Interesting, _Sir Myles thought as he noted the color of her Gift: deep blue-green streaked with purple. _Very interesting. _

"This must be pretty important if you're warding a room with sound proof walls," Sir Myles noted.

"Yeah, 't is," Maggie said dropping back into lower city cant. "But I apologize if I offended you. I mean no disrespect, sir, it's just when you come from the city like me…"

"Let's just get to the message, shall we?" Sir Myles inquired.

"Right. My 'pologies sir." Maggie rummaged through her tunic, finally extracting a thick, beat up envelope with a large red wax seal. "Here we are. I hope you're the right person to give this to. It's addressed to Kitten, House Olua."

Sir Myles pondered the envelope then abruptly stood up. "Follow me," was the only reply she got, ushering an irritated noise from the girl's throat.

The male raced out of the office and through his rooms, past a startled Lady Eleni who asked him where he was going. Myles simply replied, "The Swoop," and rushed out the door with Maggie trailing behind. At first, Eleni frowned, and then merely offered a rushed nod towards her husband, sweeping into the office moments later, slightly curious about the departure. However, she could ask later, and it did not stand as much. She herself had better things to do than hypothesize.

In no time at all, they had reached the rooms of the Baron and Baroness of Pirate's Swoop and their three young children. Myles walked purposefully to the door, knocked three times, and walked straight in.

"Shouldn't we…" Maggie began, but was cut off by Sir Myles' commanding, "Come." With that Myles walked straight to the back of the room without a second look behind him. If she wanted to know, she could follow herself. The child crinkled her nose at the man's retreating back, and obliged.

But barely after stepping into the room, a rough hand grabbed Maggie's shoulder. Almost instantly, the girl thought of a trap, instead of the more obvious route- in his rush, the man forgot to mention he had brought a guest. Yet the child responded grandly. In one movement, she unsheathed her wrist knife and placed her attacker firmly against the wall holding the knife in the attack position.

"George!" she stated in surprise and quickly dropped her arm, her gaze falling upon her 'attacker'.

"You seem surprised to see me, lass, when truly it should be the other way around. What are you doing here, Maggie?"

"I had a message…"

"Never mind, lass, but now I have to watch out for you and that girl in the infirmary," George commented.

"About that…"

"Oh no, don't tell me that's you?" She nodded. "Mithros Maggie! What did you do? I haven't seen you for maybe three days and already you've gotten into trouble."

"I didn't get meself into trouble. I found me a way to deliver a message."

"A message! Maggie, you know all messages go to Marek to come to me."

"The message wasn't for you. It was for…"

A shout of "Maggie!" broke them from their match of words.

"My 'pologies, Sir Myles," was the quiet statement, and embarrassment tinted the girl's pale cheeks. And, while the pair's conversation took place, neither had realized that a crowd of three young children and a woman who was unmistakably their mother stood watch.

"Actually, Myles, I should be apologizing, not Maggie. I mean it was my faul…"

"I don't care whose fault it was," Sir Myles interrupted. "I just need the girl. And you," he said while turning to the woman.

"Why don't we take this to George's office, away from prying ears," she commented, looking pointedly at two children, most definitely twins. The pair cracked a grin, yet stayed, at least until their father spoke.

"Right," George stated. "Thom, get your brother. Aly, come here." The children began moving, the girl with some reluctance, as the woman lead the way to the office.

"Don't mind the kids. They mean well," the woman stated as they stepped into the room. "Well Myles, what can I do for you?"

"Alanna this is Maggie. Maggie this is…"

"Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olua, Tortall's Lioness, King's Champion and first lady knight in over a hundred years," Maggie stated in awe, finishing the statement quickly. She was in the presence of the most important figure- to her, at least. The King wasn't much, but a woman warrior! And she nearly embarrassed herself. And, to the child's dismay, she didn't recognize her on sight. A shame.

"It never ceases to amaze me…" Alanna muttered, and trailed off upon Myles' statement._  
_

"Well Maggie, if you would give the letter to Alanna please."

"O' course Sir," Maggie replied. The letter, which the man had shoved back into her sweaty palms upon their departure from the House Olua. Handing the letter to Alanna, the girl murmured a simple, "Here", still in awe.

"What's this Myles?" Alanna asked.

"Read who it is written to."

Alanna quickly read the front of the letter. "It can't be…" she stated absentmindedly. With a new fire burning in her eyes, she turned back to Maggie. "Where did you get this letter? And don't leave anything out. I want the whole story of how you got here."

"We're gonna be here a while," Maggie commented and removed her head scarf, revealing her hair for the first time.

* * *

_**What's worse, is that I simply cannot make heads or tails of anything. I'm here, I'm there. And it hurts. I know it hurts, like... Like something is dead.**_

* * *

**Author's Note- Shadow: **None of the original dialogue has been touched, save for dear StorybookDreamer's slight mistakes.


	3. Telling an Old Tale

**StorybookDreamer15: **Sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy! Also, in chapter 3 it says that Maggie's gift has purple in it...THAT DOES NOT MAKE HER RELATED TO ALANNA IN ANY WAY! The only way is stated in this chapter :) The purple comes up later in the story for why it is there.**  
**

**Shadow: **Nope. Not sorry. Though _her _nickname might be the Mean One, I have my tendencies to be cruel. However, this lovely chapter might be shorter. There is a lot more dialogue. But, nevertheless, here we are, another chapter of Dragonet! Once more, I do NOT own any of Madame Pierce's characters. I'm certainly unable to create such a world within my mind.

* * *

_**Mithros, cursed nobles.**_

* * *

"It started over eleven years ago. Me mum met a man, they were together for some time. Me mum found out she was wif child soon after he, me father, left. She wrote to him telling him so and he sent back that envelope, writing that if anything should ever happen to me mum she should give that to me," Maggie began, and attempted to keep all of her common speech out of the words.

The object described was flourished gently, and the blood-red seal glinting within the light. A dragon was entwined upon the darkened print, though none seemed to pay it mind, and almost delicately, it began to peel itself away, at least until the child shoved it back into her lap. Maggie was not going to have the item breaking before any could chance to view it. She, too, was curious.

"When me mum's parents found out she was wif child but not married or even betrothed, they disowned her. So she left." A breath was taken in, from both the child and the Lioness. It seemed that only the women were affected, however, and soon after, the girl pressed on.

"That's when she met the Lord of Kerrigan. They fell in love and were married. Soon after, I was born. The Lord became me father and life went on. When I was three, me mum became wif child again. Before the babe was born she called me into the room giving me the letter saying she loved me and that I should give the letter as soon as I could, if anything happened o' course."

"Me mum died during childbirth as did the babe. I was the last one to see her alive so the Lord blamed me for her death." At this she paused until a large calloused hand rested on her shoulder.

"It's okay Maggie; he can't hurt you now," George reassured her. No one had noticed his entrance.

Nodding her head, she continued.

"After that, he started yelling at me and beatin' me. That lasted for a lil' over two years." Deep breath, long shudder. "Then on my sixth birthday, he got drunk and he… he came at me wif a knife an' said I ruined his life and that I should never be happy and he would ruin my look like I did his so men would never want to marry me and so he cut me from the back of my right hip across my back and left shoulder endin' here," she finished, pointing at the skin connecting her thumb and fore finger. A light scar was etched their, and the girl simply turned her eyes from the fact. She did not need to be reminded.

"As soon as I could that day, I left. I stole his horse and began to ride. I rode the rest of that day and some of that night. I reached the gates of Corus just before they closed for the night. I started wandering and came upon an inn."

"Don't tell me," Alanna stated, "it was the Dove?"

"Yea, it was. It was the only clear doorstep I could find; so I sat down ta rest. I don' know how long I was there but later that night, the door opened and a man came out."

"Who?" someone interjected.

"I'm gettin' there." Maggie muttered, and added something such as, '**_Mithros, cursed nobles' _**under her breath before continuing. "As I was sayin', the door opened and he came out. He asked me me name and if I lost me way home. I said 'Me name's Maggie and I ain't got no home no more.' He told me I should come in then for the night. So I tried to stand but couldn't make it wif out fallin' over. He caught me as I fell. That's when he noticed me arm, I think, cause one minute I'm haf way on the ground and the next I'm on the back of a horse ridin' some back entrance to the city. I don't know how long we rode; I think I fell asleep at one point. All I know is that it was still before midnight when we got to a large house. He quickly dismounted, picked me up off the horse, and carried me to the door. He swiftly knocked and a young servant girl opened it and greeted him as Marek."

"Why do I feel like I know this story?" Alanna and Myles said simultaneously, and their brows arched in unison. All restrained snickers, at least until more words swarmed the air.

"You were there," George stated flatly. "We all were. Please continue, Maggie."

"O'course, George," she replied while Alanna regained her composure. Myles, however, remained in his critical position, unlike the lovely woman's attempt to become less flustered.

"Where was I…ah, right…she called him Marek. He didn' waste a moment and called for Mistress Cooper." She pause to see if anyone would interrupt. No one did so she continued. "The servant girl said 'Right away' and 'You know where to go.' As she ran off, he took me to a small room and set me on a flat table. Soon after, a woman who I assumed was Mistress Cooper came in. She walked right up, looked at me, and told Marek to leave. Then she healed me and left me to sleep, saying her daughter had just given birth to twins a few weeks ago."

"Marek came back in and said he had someone he wanted me to meet. By this time, the whole house was asleep except me, Marek, and the mysterious man. Marek walked to the door and called the man in; he introduced 'imself as George and asked me name and how old I was. I said 'Me name's Maggie and I be six years old.' He asked how I got hurt and if me mum knew where I was. I told 'im that milord did it and that mum was wif the Black God. I asked 'im not to take me back; I didn't want 'im to hurt me no more and started to cry. He then told me what made 'im the only man I've ever trusted. He said, 'Maggie, as long as you're in my city, ain't no one gonna get you, not even your da.'"

"So after that, I lived in the city. Then the other day, that riot in the market happened. I got in the fight ad the next thing I remember is wakin' up in the palace infirmary. Then I came here." With that, she finished and waited for any questions to arise.

"She does look like him," Alanna said, but wen Maggie asked who, all she got was more questions.

Quietly, the woman regarded the child, at least until her lips tugged downward. "Do you have the Gift?"

The girl nodded, and she bore into Maggie on that subject until she was satisfied and then began on the next. This continued for what seemed like forever to Maggie until a burly man came bursting into the office.

"Have you seen her?" he asked.

"Raoul, who are you talking about?" Alanna quarried, and turned around, covering the tiny girl with her equally minuscule stance.

"A girl, nearing ten, red hair…"

"You're the man who carried me from the city, aren't you?" Maggie exclaimed instantly, and tilted her head from behind the Lioness curiously. _Should I thank him?_

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the infirmary!" was the answer she was given. When Maggie only stared at him, something in him snapped. "Answer me, for Mithros' sake!"

The harsh words struck the child instantly, and her lower lip trembled, but Raoul never removed his glare, baring into the girl's eyes. He took a step forward, and reached for her arm, to simply tug her back to the lonely bed of the infirmary, but to no avail. He had touched a part of the girl never to be revealed. It was as if he was screaming, yelling. As if he was...

"I don't answer to no one," she retorted and burst from the room. Moments later the distant sounds of sobbing could be heard.

"Great," George mumbled. "I'll be back." With that he left the room calmly, staring into the empty space by the confused male's ear.

"What I do?" Raoul asked dumbfounded.

"Yelling at her went too far," Alanna replied. When he simply stared confused, Myles chimed in. "She was abused by her father. She doesn't trust men. Well…except Marek and George. Mainly George though."

"I had no idea. How does she know George?"

As Alanna and Myles explained in turn, George sought out Maggie.

* * *

He found her sitting in a corner near the door, hugging her knees to her chest, still crying, the slimy tears trekking towards her neck.

"There now, Rags." The use of her childhood nickname made Maggie look up. George looked at her and noticed how much she resembled his wife when they cried. Neither cried prettily, both getting all red in the face, strangely blending in with their coppery, or in Maggie's case fiery, red hair.

"Mithros, Mynos, and Shakith! All guys are the same, George. You can't trust them. You think their so nice and then…" Maggie sputtered.

"You trust me," George pointed out, and squeezed the child close.

"That's different. You're different. You'd never do what _milord_ did," she spat the last like an insult. "Drunk idiot."

"How do you know Raoul is like him and not me? Hmmmm?"

"Cause I know more men like 'im than you," was the frank reply, though regretted upon the touch of air. Hypocrite, bigot. Maggie attempted to smack her lips shut, yet they continued to flap loose, wobbling treacherously.

"Margryt of Kerrigan, I never knew you to judge someone by statistics. You should be ashamed of yourself."

As she tried to come up with a reply, George wrapped his arm around Maggie's shoulder.

"Come now, Rags, just let him talk and give him a chance. He's not like your father."

"Milord is not me father," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes.

"Now _that's_ the Maggie I know. Come on, trust me?"

After a moment's pause, Maggie muttered, "Fine," and they stood to walk in the direction of George's office.

* * *

Later that evening, Alanna sat alone in the damp, now empty office. On the desk in front of her sat the envelope Maggie had given her, still unopened. She couldn't, not with the suspicions of whom it was from. The memories would become rich, unnerving. It would be too much... But, with a new burst of courage, she reached for the letter and broke the seal. Another envelope and a folded bit of parchment fell out along with a small silver ring. Alanna picked up the parchment first, carefully unfolding it as to not mar the yellowed papyrus. In neat black script a letter was written.

~0~

_Dear Alanna,  
__By this time I have long passed into the hands of the Black God. If you are reading this then something has happened to a woman I met long ago. She wrote to me saying she was pregnant with my daughter, Margryt after my mother. Since she didn't know many people, she entrusted me with an important job; naming the child's godsparents. Kitten, please take care of my girl as her godsmother. I know you will be a wonderful mother one day, and you are the only woman I trust enough with this job. Good luck in the future and gods all bless.  
__With love,  
__Liam Ironarm  
__Addendum: Please deliver the other letter and ring to Jonathon._

~0~

Putting the letter down, she picked up the ring and examined it closely. It was beautifully crafted with the Shang emblem of dragon centered around, the center being a stone the color of Liam's eyes. It looked to be made of pure silver and very valuable. However, the jewelry was not hers. But the woman did slip it upon her finger, and simply sat, admiring the gleam, unaware she was frozen with emotion.

* * *

When George walked into his office, the first thing he noticed was his wife's expression. He had known her long enough to realize she was lost in memories of not so long ago. After a moment of standing there, he cleared his throat to gather attention.

"Well?"

* * *

_**The Gift? I didn't know it existed for 'till a few days before.**_

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**Surnote: **Well, my pretties, here we have it. Completed, re-vamped, edited.

For my lovely Mean One-** "OI. YOU SPELLED 'PRETTILY' INCORRECT. TWICE. BOTH ON THE PAPERS, AND IN HERE. HOW IN THE BLOODY..." **

But I digress. Please, if you are up to it, take the time to review. I adore whatever feedback I receive, same for mindless 'flames'. Just don't call me names, please. My computer is very fragile when that happens. Occasionally, it'll just *POOF*, and I don't update.


	4. Healing our Pains

**StorybookDreamer: **I am so sorry for the wait! There is no excuse so I won't give one...Please forgive me! Anyway I hope you like this chapter...It made me laugh when I realized that Jon's letter is longer than Alanna's :) Enjoy!

**Shadow: **Ah, Mean One. You make this so hard on me. Well, this chapter marks the end of our pre-written journey. (Mostly because I have lost the last piece of manuscript. Oops.) The rest will be from my writing style with itty-bitty snide comments by the lovely StorybookDreamer. As usual, I own nothing. Enjoy!

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**_Sometimes, you just have to do what you feel is right, not what seems correct._  
**

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Jonathan of Conté sat in his rooms waiting for a certain redheaded knight to venture forth, in order to utter the 'Oh-So-Important' news. It likely wasn't something worth his time, especially not so late in the evening, but with the woman's temper, he had to listen. There wasn't much of a chance, and George had mentioned something about the letter actually being important. So, there the king sat, his fingers impatiently smacking the desk in rhythmic motions. One, two, three. One, two, three.

After the bells tolled another time, Alanna the Lioness entered his room, tear tracks still fresh on her cheeks.

"Alanna? Are you okay?" Jon asked, not at all calmly, still awed that the Lioness, his champion, was crying. She hadn't cried for ages. Tears seemed to be non-existent in her life, save for that one time...

"Here," Alanna told him curtly as she handed the envelope over. It was all she could manage

He examined it slowly, feeling the sharp caress of papyrus along his own calloused fingers. It was old, and he could tell that from the texture. Old, and knowledgeable.

"Just…" Alanna had to catch her breath so as not to cry again. "Just read it. I don't think I can tell you. Not yet anyway. But you need to know and he…he said to give it to you."

_I wonder who HE is._ Jon thought._ But time has told me not to ask questions when Alanna is like this._

He nodded towards the woman with a great deal of feigned interest, because, truly, he had better things to do. But at her expectant eyes and gasping breath, the man found himself searching for a knife, slitting the item up the side. It was only a moment later that the thick paper stood straight within his hands, the printed letters dancing along his vision. It took a few moments to review, and slowly, the words came to him.

~0~

_Jon,_  
_If you are reading this, then I am long passed into the realms of the dead. Something has happened to a past lover of mine. While I was with Alanna the woman sent word that she was to have a child, a girl to be named Margryt after my mother. I will not bore you with the story but the information you need to know is this: you are her godsfather. I know since you are King you probably have your own children, but please see that my girl is taken care of. Also, the girl does not know I am her father. The ring is to be given to her when you and her godsmother deem her ready to know who I am. I trusted you with the ring because I know Alanna would end up forgetting about this. I am truly sorry if I have caused you or Alanna any inconvenience._  
_Good Luck,_  
_Liam Ironarm_

~0~

After a moments pause, Jon spoke, and his voice was suddenly aged. Liam. That was who it was from, that was why his Champion was so choked up. And, slowly, he voiced, "How did you get this, Alanna?"

"The girl, Margryt, gave it to me. She's the little girl who saved you in the riot the other day."

"All right. Why now, though? Liam Ironarm has been ten years gone."

The woman started, and shifted on her heels, to her toes, and back again. The child had explained it, if not in depth, but she had mentioned it enough during their time together. During the questions, the story... Alanna, though she was unsure whether or not trust the child, had at least understood the history of the girl.

"She said this was the only time she could get it to me. Her mother's been dead seven years now. Do you think she knows? That Liam's her father?"

"No. Not if her mother still gave her the letter. He told me not to tell her until she was ready," answered Jon, scanning the words once more, less irate, and certainly more interested. A child with a strange past, and one without the knowledge of her father.

"Oh. Well," Alanna stated, and stepped closer, closing the gap between them to view the letter. "What does yours say?"

"Probably close to what yours said," Jon guessed, not mentioning the ring on purpose. If she was emotional with the mere knowledge of Liam's continued existence in the form of a child, she would certainly be devastated over the topic of trust. "If I guess correct. Simply telling me the story and that I am her godsfather."

"The same, then, since I am her godsmother. But what does that mean? I mean, I know what it means, but what do we do?"

"Nothing. But everything. We talk to her first and then we go from there. But first," he said making his way toward his closest friend.

Pulling his Champion close to him, he hugged her to him and let her cry away the memories that that letter had brought. After she had calmed and his thoughts had returned to the present, he released her and held her by the shoulders. "Now, I suggest you go to bed. George can ease the memories' pain in ways I never could." And with that he walked her back to her rooms, his arm on her shoulders, and her head on his.

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Maggie, though completely content with the meetings of the day, found herself nervously drifting towards George during the night, tugging on her locks anxiously. He, for some reason, happened to be up, pacing the hall with a strange look upon his face, one she had only seen twice before. Yet the girl did not question, and simply wandered forward, out of the furnished bedroom she had been offered for the night.

There was silence, at first, and with the absence of speech suddenly came the requirement for comfort. Her arms folded around the man, allowing him enough time to breath before she jumped away, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she is naught more than a child.

"Did I do the righ' thin'?" she whispered calmly, though her lips were tugged downward in the fearful way a child's does often. "I made 'em all upset."

The man shrugged his great shoulders, and swept his gaze over her trembling features, extending a palm to lightly touch her cheek. "Sometimes, Rags, you just have to do what you think is right, not what seems correct."

The child did not respond, and weighed her character against the choices made. Had she done something correct? In all honestly, she could not recall any of the day turning out to be well. Her head was throbbing with the repercussions of healing, the use of her Gift, and each events' strange outcome. The lady had sent them all from the room, had murmured something to George. And she refused to question- why bother questioning, anyhow?

It was easier to accept fate, and allow her elders to tell her what to do, sometimes. Being defiant at that moment would simply bring her nothing, especially since she wished to prove something to the people she looked up to. Being... herself, really, would gain nothing.

"But nothin' feels correct no more."

The man wished he could respond to that, and found that he could not, simply leading the girl into the room she was given, leaning lithely against the door's frame. "It probably won't, Maggie. We simply have to accept it, and move on. She's not furious with you, though. Nobody is."

Yet she could not accept it. Though the fact was simple, she could not bring herself to believe such a simple thing. The Lioness must be furious with her, no matter how much her husband denied it.

So, understanding he could not win the defiant girl's opinion, George simply bade her a good night, and slowly shut the door, leaving Maggie with her thoughts, and he with a wife returning, fresh tear tracks visible upon her face.

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Jon was correct in his assumption that George could ease the pain. No sooner had the Lioness begun her tears than they had been stemmed, though the tracks were visible minutes after. And he did not kiss them off, as he had before, nor did he wipe them with the fleshiest part of his thumb. Instead, the man tugged his wife closer, allowing her to fall asleep with shaking breaths and distressed memories.

"Would talking about it help?"

Her locks shook within his face, and from the sniffling, he could only presume it was a negative, her breath falling into a steadier motion.

"If it helps, you seem to have a new admirer. Just think of the present," George whispered next, and stroked the spirited woman's head, chest falling in a similar motion to hers. "Especially since the little one wants to steal you from me."

But she did not seem to hear, stuck within the little boundary of day and night, her fingers barely moving to scrape reality from the dust of unconscious thoughts. And, without another breath to catch her unaware, Alanna slipped into the realm of sleep, leaving her husband to his contemplating.

However, the male did not realize his one listener was no longer active, and continued his statements upon the girl awake within the next room. "She was so distressed earlier. Was convinced that you hated her."

After another moment of silence, he turned speech into quiet memory, allowing the thoughts of the day to well up inside of him. Maggie, during the bout of questioning she was subjected to, did no more than laugh with excitement, her babbling words making enough sense to pass for answers. She had been so excited.

_"The Gift? I didn' know it existed 'till a few days before, Miss!_ _Ye have it too, righ'? How lon'? Wha' does it do?"_

_Of course, Alanna could spare no time to answer those questions, and simply continued upon the next topic. "Do you know your parentage?"_

_The answer was a negative, and for some reason, Alanna felt a tendril of relief snake down her back. How could she explain to the child of her father's death... of his life, even? It would not be possible, and would certainly take more than a day._

_"Oh, no, Miss! I don' know much 'bout me father. Me mum din' loike talkin' much 'bout him, Miss."_

George could not recall the last time Maggie had actually fawned upon someone, nor could he recollect a time that she seemed less than her age. Of course, the whole blob of her simplicity was blotted out moments later, when the Lioness had stared directly at the handwriting, the tiny sense of distress worming its way into her skull. And, of course, it had led to the child's immediate doubt, which could not even be caressed by Rauol, who she had gotten to know after his mistake.

_Mithros,_ the man thought, humor pinching his cheeks. _The tyke's been here mayhap a day, and she has us all wrapped around her little finger._

But the child in the other room would believe naught of it.

* * *

She left early in the morning, before any ventured along the practice fields, so as to attract no attention at her abrupt departure. Of course, the child adored being within the grounds, but could not allow herself any time with the nobles. Their attitudes were different, their dress, their speech. She had already forced her idol into a slight depression, and, with her luck, would soon be within the boundaries of yet another fight.

In short, Margryt of Kerrigan, the only child of Liam Ironarm, was ashamed. Ashamed of who she was, ashamed of what she had did. Because she saw her life as an embarrassment to George, making his wife upset, and somehow doing everything incorrectly. It had only taken a whole night to realize this, due to her nerves and utter lack of sleep. She had to disappear, perhaps go back to the Dove... She had to do _something._

Maggie was certain she would not have done what she did.

As light slowly flickered across the field, her fingers snaked towards the disarray of red, attempting to weave them into the large scarf tied around her arm, and with a short crack, spun on her heel. At once, the knives laced in several spots were aimed to be tossed, yet casually placed aside at the sight of a mere bird, pecking at a few branches. Nothing. But there had been something, and the child, completely and utterly frustrated, continued the lacing of her locks, set into the air by a sudden pressure upon her shoulder.

"Never, ever let your guard down. Even if it is a bird."

Her breath caught within the parched structure of her throat, and reluctantly, Maggie tore her watery orbs from the ground, lip trembling as she craned her neck to the voice. She certainly knew who it was- Alanna - by the voice, though was unsure if the woman would recognize her, or if she would be upset.

The lips of her captor tugged into a small smirk, and the woman brushed a strand of the child's hair out of the way, murmuring, "Maggie."

"Ye aren' mad at me, are ye, Miss?"

A soft laugh was her response, and it took a few moments to drag the child from her thoughts, to reassure her that it was not because of her actions that had brought upon the moment of morbid reminders. And all was abolished from the fiery girl's mind at the conclusion, though she still voiced her desire to leave, and at the query of, "Why now?", found she had no response.

"Why not now? I don' belong with any of ye. I'm a common gixie, Miss. Ye an' everyone are 'bove me," she muttered, finally, in response, allowing the woman to lead her around.

"Why not after we break our fast? Why not after I leave from my early practice?" At the arched brow, Alanna laughed, adding, "It's habit, of course."

And, with a gleam in her eye, the woman turned, answering the thought within the young child's eyes. "Care to join me?"

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_**I don' reckon I'll ever understand these bloody nobs. **_

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**Surnote: **Now, for some reason, not many of this fandom enjoy writing reviews. Nevertheless, I appreciate when you read, press the favorite, and other-such. Please continue! Have a lovely day, and I'll update when the lovely Plot-Bunny Gods approve of my thoughts... Or when the Mean One (StorybookDreamer) helps me figure out where it's all going.


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